Evils Encounters
by Octoya
Summary: The last addition to the Capriccio troupe at Evils Theater was its second Gardener, Gammon Octo. He thinks back to that day when he wandered in, encountering each of his strange coworkers one by one, facing one peril after another, before ending up in his role. It wasn't fun, but it's a memory.
1. Graveyard

_"Today again the lost, pitiful visitors who don't know anything"_

_"Are probably delivered into the Master of the Graveyard's stomach before long"_

* * *

Stepping through the whistling trees, his feet finally stopped crunching on leaves and twigs. He had reached a clearing in the center of the forest, no longer wandering blind in the nighttime wilderness. At that point, he realized his journey was almost over and he heaved a sigh at how long it had taken just to get to this stage. The sigh was supposed to be in relief, but all that was coming out of him was dread.

The night had become cold, so much so that his breath was puffing out of him in hot clouds, but he remained steady, the trek more than enough exercise to keep his blood flowing. Yet, when his eyes fell upon this new part of the journey he couldn't help shivering just a little bit.

Beyond a wiry iron gate stood a sea of graves, crumbling and crudely carved. Tombstones and crosses rose into the air at odd angles in no particular order, forming an ever widening ring around this large clearing. Gammon tried to read the inscription on the nearest grave, but the writing was indecipherable to him. The dirt under his feet was no longer fresh; the place must have been built here for some time. Gammon recalled to mind the legends surrounding the forest, of people entering and never coming back out. He crossed his arms over his chest and took another breath. There was no fate for him that feared anymore, he told himself.

Looking past the graves, his eyes finally caught upon the tower rising far above him, a pillar gleaming black in the center of the graveyard; on its top floor sat a white clock facing out to the world like the full moon. Gammon noted that, though the graves seemed so neglected, the clock hands were still turning on the tower's face. This was the place he'd been looking for, there could be no mistake.

Gammon sighed again, but the satisfaction just wasn't coming, so he shook his head and pulled the rusting gate open. He stepped through and it slammed shut behind him with an earsplitting squeak; at the sound every bird in sight took flight and left the trees in a single cloud. Then everything became eerie and silent.

With just a knife in his belt Gammon crept along the graves with eyes darting at every shadow; he tried to walk so that there was an almost clear path between himself and the iron gate, though the graves refused to line up entirely. Within a minute of this slinking half-hunched, though, his legs and back started to ache and he still felt vestiges of his childhood self-consciousness. As the silence began to subside, the insects beginning again their nightly calls, he forced himself to relax and walk upright. His heart was still gripped with dread, heavy in his chest.

Suddenly his foot struck something hard in the grass and he tripped, only a reflex to grab the nearest gravestone stopping him from falling on his face. "_Haa-!_" He righted himself and wobbled back with a bit of the stone coming away in his hand. _Probably just a rock, no need to look_, he thought.

Bending down, he took hold of something long and heavy in his hand and brought it up to the moonlight. It was a charred bone.

"O-ho-ho~!" Not bothering with a startled yell, Gammon's gaze flew up, away from the bone to a figure towering over him. She was a strange sight, a slim young woman in a big red ribboned red dress with a large bustle in the back, the outfit of a previous century. She stood planting into the ground the tip of a delicate parasol. In one black gloved hand, halfway raised to her amused face as if giving a toast, was a glass. Her red eyes sparkled in his direction, her lips turned up in a slight smile, and something about her just sent a chill down Gammon's spine. She watched him as he straightened, releasing the bone. "Hello there, young man. You must have wandered here by accident."

Something darted around him in the shadows. Gammon did not smile at the woman, but kept his voice steady as he replied, "This was no mistake, I have been looking for this clearing for some time." _Something about her looks familiar, but I cannot decide what._

"Is that so?" Her smile grew wider, and he thought he saw her teeth glinting sharp. "Why would that be?"

He was only partially paying attention, also searching around for the shadows that had just shifted. _The charred bone, outside its grave, who left it there and whom did it belong to?_ "That is my business. I might ask you about your own in this place."

"Oh, my being here is not so strange." Her smile spread up even wider. "I welcome you to the Evil's Forest, though you are a trespasser."

Yes, those were not natural teeth. Gammon's eyes snapped back to her face, and suddenly a memory returned to him, of a history lesson he'd had long before. The Vampire, Vanika Conchita. _She looks like her, and the bone there is alone and charred almost as if someone-_

"How would you like to be prepared?"

His thought broke for a moment. "Prepared?" The shadows, he could see them now somewhere behind, but he didn't dare turn his back to this lady. _No one ever comes back from this forest. Ah...it seems as if _she_ might have-_

"Well to be more precise, would you like to be baked?"

-_killed-_

"Or stewed?"

-_them-_

The shadows behind Gammon blurred as they moved, and suddenly two more shapes sprang into focus as they pounced forward. He was already ducking down, away from their locking arms, and he kicked off to run around the swelled dress. "Get away from me!"

Two new voices shrilly pursued him, "Insolence!"

"Respect the Master of the Graveyard!"

And then even louder than that, he could hear her chilling laughter rising high into the night air. He stumbled over the graves fleeing such a sound, feeling his insides grow cold. His boots caught on roots and stones, making him fall, and his bare palms struck the frosted ground hard.

Suddenly the dirt burst open beside him and gnarled hands started to claw up out of the ground; something wrapped around his ankle and he shouted out, kicking with such violent force he heard something snap. He rocketed back onto his knees and dropped back into a run, now hearing the crack and crumble of earth being pushed aside. An awful stench assaulted his senses as the dead crept on into the moonlit air, and Gammon started to cough. Groping fingers scratched at his clothes and limbs with every grave he passed, and his hand held tightly to his knife, trying to cut away at them all.

He had been running blind, trying to find his way through the graveyard. His breaths were coming hard and fast, and he had to stop for just a moment. He looked up, past the rising ivy covered crosses. The dark shape of the clock tower loomed closer than ever above him. Back down at its base, he thought he could see a door. _That's it!_ He kicked off, breaking another fragile corpse's grip.

Then two sets of arms encircled his own from behind, jerking him roughly to a halt. "Intruder!"

"You'll be our master's meat!"

"No!" Wisps of blonde hair flew at the corner of his vision, two wraiths unlike the rotting devils below, smaller than him in stature but no less strong. He struggled, clawing and kicking as they started to drag him backwards.

"Worthless invader! Loser!" Shrilled the wraiths. From behind, Gammon heard the woman's laughter again, so close and so horrific. It turned Gammon's blood to ice, and his movements grew wilder. "Let go of-!" The back of his hand connected with something and there was a startled yelp-he lashed back with one foot, approximating where the boy's might be, and dug his boot in as hard as he could. The startled yelp became a howl and Gammon's right arm was free; he swung around from the force of his own fighting. In his spinning vision he thought he saw a young girl holding his other arm, whose likeness was familiar, before his skull cracked against hers.

She let go and Gammon didn't have time to feel the horrible headache starting in his head, blurry eyes transfixed on the theater. It took him a moment to get his momentum again, not to mention his balance, but the lady's imperial laugh had become an enraged scream.

There was a disembodied hand curled around his foot. _Almost there, almost there!_ Another was feebly squeezing his shoulder. He could see the door so many feet away, past only so many tombstones he had to weave in and out of. _Don't be locked, don't you be locked._

He could hear her, the Master of the Graveyard herself, coming close upon him now. He took his knife and tossed it behind him as hard as he could, and something changed. She made no more sounds but her inhuman growls, though the blood was rushing in his ears so loudly he couldn't hear.

The door stood there in front of him. He reached out a hand to it-he was bleeding, someone long dead had scratched their fingernails over him.

"_Get back here!_"

The door swung inwards at his touch. Gammon threw himself inside. His own blood flecked in an arc as with the last of his strength the door slammed shut.

He collapsed against it, heaving in the stale, musty air.

The door thudded against his back, and he heard a muffled roar of fury from outside. Then there was only silence.

Well, not silence. Gammon stood there listening to his own belabored breathing and hammering heart-_I can't seem to catch my breath_, feeling himself go weak and fall on his knees to the ground. "Stop being so stupid," he muttered. Really, after everything he'd been through already, to feel fear now was inexcusable.

He also could hear, amplified in the large empty space, the turning of gears far above him. He looked up, seeing the gigantic cogs of the clock in the distant shadows. The moonlight filtered down onto them through the glass face, illuminating little else.

Gammon looked back down at the ground, seeing only blackness around his feet, and then carefully reached back and latched the door shut behind him. He pushed off into the vast empty space, going slowly and constantly looking behind, waiting for the demon and her wraiths to burst through any moment.

Still, there seemed to not be a soul around except for him. He sighed and said aloud, "Yes…now, time to begin the search."


	2. Clocktower

"_So that this second hand does not stop, watching over it is 'my' role"_

* * *

Groping blindly, Gammon found a rickety staircase that lead up into the tower of this decrepit building. He didn't know if what he sought was up there, but it was better than going where he couldn't see. And just as well, as he turned around the staircase long enough he could see there was light spilling down on the steps far up above. Although he was already feeling tired, Gammon gripped the railing and started to run to the light.

Through the face of a giant clock, like a window, there was light spilling up in this rattling tower. Blinking long enough, Gammon was able to adjust to the light as he moved over the stairs. Not too far above was the top, where he could see the lens of the clock face and the mechanisms moving even now. ...At the time when it struck twelve, it would surely be painful to listen to from up here—even the ticking was getting louder now. Gammon half thought that he should turn back immediately and look somewhere else.

But then, wasn't it possible that he'd hide his treasure somewhere unpleasant like this?

Gammon shook his head. He'd be sure to leave before the hour was up in here, or he might lose his hearing. With that, he stepped wearily over the last step and onto the tower's final floor.

The ticking was so loud, it made it a little hard to think—but the moment he found his way to the top of the tower, Gammon couldn't hear anything at all.

"...?"

How quiet; moving back down the stairs a ways, though, the heavy ticking sounded back up again and resounded through his chest. So, it was something unique to that room that he couldn't hear it. The Clocktower of Castle Hedgehog was supposed to be like this. This clocktower in Elphegort was designed like this out of nostalgia, perhaps?

Well, he would search the quiet room at his leisure then. It wasn't as though there were a lot of places to hide treasures or antiques in the space, though. In the room, the greatest pieces of furniture were the mechanisms of the clock up above—unlike in Castle Hedgehog they were exposed and moving smoothly around the room; it obscured many things, but hiding antiques in gears didn't seem a smart idea on the builder's part. As for the floor, it was thin rattled with every step, made of metal like the stairs, and there wasn't a place to put a secret compartment.

So he just wandered around the hanging gears and looked for a sparkle of glass, a shine of a mirror, a spoon, anything.

"Get out."

Gammon's whole body stiffened as though strung on something cold. That soft voice that came from nowhere didn't sound like the monster in the Graveyard, but if it was another inhabitant of this theater then…His head whipped back and forth but no figure was waiting in the shadows of the room.

_Perhaps I imagined it._

He walked around the gears again, poking at anything that looked loose and checking the shadows they cast in the moonlight. So far, he didn't see anything, and there still wasn't anywhere else to hide a treasure to begin with. He'd have to dismantle the whole clocktower to see everything clearly, of course.

Then, a little glisten caught his eye.

"Get out."

Gammon's eyes widened.

The silvery glistening thing wasn't too far above him, nestled inside the hollow of one of the gears. ..._What an odd, odd place to put a spoon_.

Now, perhaps if he climbed up on some of the supports, he could grab it—and having one of them, it could be possible to have more—

"NO."

A big shadowed shape descended from above, and Gammon's hand flew back at his own face, stinging from a slap of cold fingers. "Eh!?"

He stumbled back and looked, but the shape was already gone.

"GET OUT."

"Agh!" Gammon whirled in circles but the shadow kept moving up above, around the gears—almost as if it was moving through them. The memory of the ghouls down below reared up in his mind and Gammon turned back in the direction of the stairs. Whatever it was, he didn't need the Spoon badly enough to find out—he didn't need to get eaten for real.

Almost to the stairs—

Gammon stumbled to the edge—_please, don't follow me_—the shadow blotted out the moonlight right behind him.

Something kicked him in the back.

Hard.

Gammon fell and struck the railing of the stairs.

And fell over it.

Down back to the bottom of the tower.

In those few seconds, Gammon wasn't thinking—only acting.

If he fell, like this, he was going to die at the bottom, but his hand reached out and grabbed at the railing—he felt a wrenching, like his arm almost being pulled out of his socket, and his grip slipped almost immediately after making contact.

Like a rag doll his body was flipped and he fell the rest of the way down.

His legs struck the floor first. Then his shoulder, then his back, and finally his head.

"Oooghh...godddd..."

Moaning, Gammon lay still on the cold floor. Up above, beyond the point where he could focus, a blurry shape was peering over the edge of the top room's floor down at him like a curious animal. Gammon looked blankly up at it before his eyes closed and he moaned again. "Haaaoooghhh…."

A bell started ringing somewhere, deep and sonorous.

Slowly, very slowly, Gammon sat up and his head fell down into his weak hands. His back and legs ached the most, but the headache was getting worse with the ringing. His left arm wasn't feeling so good either... "Ghhheeeehhh..."

A shuddering breath left him.

Then, he heard a whispering voice up above.

"If you are an intruder, it would have been better for you to break your neck."

_Huh?_

He looked up above, but he couldn't see the shadow that had kicked him. "Wh...who..."

"I belong here, but you do not."

The whispered voice was level, a little deep, similar to a kind of voice he had heard a long time before. Gammon rubbed at his face and started to slowly stand again. Ah, a shooting pain in his foot—not broken, but perhaps sprained, although either way Gammon hobbled to the wall to support himself. "Are you another...monster...?"

"...That is not it. But, it does not matter. For now 'she' knows you are inside."

"_She," eh? I wonder if he means the monster in the Graveyard._ Gammon coughed and rubbed his head with his free hand, "It's impossible for me to make an escape now, thanks to you."

"It would have been better for your neck to have broken."

Behind Gammon, two sets of arms circled around his and yanked him backwards. He let out a cry, stumbling back on his bad foot, but the forces refused to stop, dragging him back across the room. "Ah! Ah! Ah!"

"See you. Invader."

The last thing Gammon heard of the voice before he was dragged into the darkness.

That, and the giggling of children.


	3. Courtroom

_"The one acting as curator, the one that he loved the most was"_

_"The Clockwork Doll"_

* * *

Through the darkness he stumbled, Gammon's foot aching with every step, until finally the two ghouls released him and turned him around. "Haah!" In front of him was some kind of table, which he leaned upon heavily.

Ahhh, his aching foot, he felt like if he didn't lean hard on this table he would fall over completely. Not wanting that, he trembled in place and kept the foot up, supported on his heel.

The lights started to come up around him, and Gammon glanced from side to side. They weren't harsh, so adjusting to them was surprisingly less of a problem than he'd expected.

What he was standing in was a giant courtroom, so it appeared. One that, looking up, was also connected to the clocktower in some manner, with those same gears hanging high above.

"Today we have a new defendant!"

The banging of a gavel brought Gammon back to his senses. Jerking his head directly up, what he saw in front of him was a large judge's bench.

Sitting on that bench, it was a small doll.

Or rather, he thought it might be a doll.

Two images were super-imposed over each other; that of a doll, and that of a young woman at the bench. The doll was sitting slumped in place. The young woman was sitting erect and holding a gavel in her hands, which rang out with sound in the large courtroom.

Gammon blinked several times, but however he tried he couldn't seem to break that illusory image. Eventually, he decided he would pick one over the other—the young woman's visage. It made more sense; how could a doll be presiding over a trial?

Now, other than the doll, in the attendant boxes he could see other figures. The woman—the monster—that he had seen in the graveyard was sitting and watching him. Seeing her, and those twins sitting on either side of her, made Gammon's face break out in a cold sweat.

On the other side of him was another female, a younger girl with yellow hair and an uninterested expression. Although it was difficult to tell in his confused state, she looked a little bit like the servants on the opposite side.

Those people were talking over him.

"He's a lot taller than the last person."

"A lot faster too, I can assure you..."

"That black hair—"

"Where's the sorceress~?"

"She said she wasn't feeling well enough to attend…"

"Sorceress, sick~? A Sorceress sick~?"

Gammon's head was swimming—he turned his eyes back up to the heavens and saw lurking in the gears that figure that was responsible for his sprained ankle. His nose crinkled as he pulled his lips back in a snarl. _You again._

**Knock! Knock! Knock!**

The girl at the judge's bench was knocking her gavel—her illusory gavel—for silence. The sound resounded through the court and there was no more gossiping between these four figures on either side of him.

"Order in the court! Start the trial!"

Gammon's head drooped. "...Trial?..." He had no idea what she was talking about. Without any sort of defense, he was being made to stand trial by a doll!?

It all went quickly from there.

"Defendant stands accused of trespassing!"

"About that, I can explain—"

"I find the defendant guilty on all counts!"

"Wait but I—"

"Conviction!"

"I don't underst—"

"The sentence: Death!"

"Eh!?"

Her gavel's sound rang through the empty space. "That's the sentence, you cannot be tried again! You'd only be in twice as much jeopardy!" Like an execution knell, she kept pounding that gavel.

From his other side, he saw the monster of the graveyard leering at him hungrily, and Gammon's heart began beating from there. "Wait a—wait a minute! What the hell's going on!? How is it that my life has been discarded completely by a doll standing at a judge's bench!?"

"I find the defendant in contempt of court!"

"Who even are you people!? Isn't this theater supposed to be empty of everyone? Isn't this place supposed to be an uninhabited theater that Gallerian built before the end of his life? Where did you come from?!"

"I find those questions irrelevant to the courtroom. Now as the sentence has been passed, the defendant, Mr—"

There was a pause from this doll—who had, even in the image of the woman, frozen completely in place. Her gavel was still pointed in the air at him, like a knife. With all the eyes of the courtroom turned on him, and Gammon had a brief thought that if he never said his name, she might not end up executing him after all.

Then, though, with the monster of the graveyard still leering at him he uttered the name, "Gammon Octo..."

"Mr. Octo will be condemned to Hell!"

Music started to move through the air as though a record was being played somewhere. Gammon looked around himself in a panic, suddenly unable to see the twins that had been beside their master just a moment ago. It was all so surreal.

Unable to comprehend those precious moments, he was dragged backwards again by those two and he felt someone nibbling on his hair.

"!"

Gammon began to struggle. The ghoulish twins' claws were tearing at his body as they started to drag him. The pain in his ankle was far away for the moment, the striking realization that he was about to be devoured much closer. _No—no—no—!_

He screwed his eyes shut.

"Wait a minute! I humbly request a pardon for the accused!"

Everything stopped, even the music.

"...Waiter, you would ask such a thing of me?"

The girl on the other side of him, who looked like those ghouls and yet not. She was standing by the judge's bench, by the doll-woman, staying her pounding gavel with a little hand. Only because of that, Gammon didn't feel the claws tearing at him or the teeth pulling on his hair. They were still poised over him, but waiting—agonizingly.

Gammon tried to think of anything beyond the agony in his foot but found himself unable to quite do it. "Hh...hh..."

"He evaded the graveyard and he looks strong; I bet someone like him would be good for working around the theater."

"Huh?" It seemed the doll-woman wasn't aware of such as a possibility. Gammon, too, looked on his young girl uncomprehendingly.

But merrily she continued on, a gleam in her eyes and her voice rising. "Oh we really need someone like that working around here. With just me and Gear, the theater is falling apart! Someone to oil the gears, someone to sweep the floors, someone to make sure the projector is working properly and clean up after the two twins..."

"All these things are your duty aren't they?" The monster of the graveyard's voice was a growl in Gammon's ear.

"But I can't do it all by myself! And anyway, Ma would appreciate a second hand with how busy she is all the time. If he doesn't work out for us, he can just be punished later." The Waiter glanced at the doll-woman. "Right?"

The gavel pounded and the sound rang out in the room once again; Gammon felt himself being shoved to the floor and he bit his lips to keep from crying out. The pain in his ankle was so intense that he began to choke back whimpers; he couldn't look so weak in front of all these ghoulish creatures.

"I pardon the accused! Temporarily! He will serve as our Waiter's choreman and whatever else the Sorceress sees fit to use him for! Right?"

Waiter smiled, "That's all I'm asking."

More pounding.

A low growl behind him…Gammon could feel the graveyard monster's eyes boring into his back as slowly he started to stand back up. He couldn't put enough weight on his ankle—on his knees, he was only able to stand the rest of the way when Waiter came over and offered her hand. She may be his rescuer, but Gammon saw a leering smile on her face, as cruel as the graveyard monster's. A shiver ran down his back.

"..."

Waiter placed his hand back on the bench and turned to the Master of the Court while Gammon swayed. "I'll be introducing our new choreman to the Sorceress, if you don't mind."

From behind, Gammon heard another growl and sweeping noise—the monster had already left, probably back to her graveyard.

"Very good, Waiter. Court is adjourned!"

**Knock! Knock! Knock!**

The next time Gammon looked, the woman at the bench was gone. Standing there instead, it was only a little doll.

"What...?"

"Come on, dumbass." The girl that remained took his hand and started to drag him along, despite Gammon's grunts as weight was put on his ankle again.

"Where are we going..."

She rolled her eyes. "Duh. We're going to speak with the Sorceress of Time. We'll see what she wants of a lug like you."


	4. Cinema

"_Just before he passed away an isolated man created it"_

"_A small theater deep in the forest"_

* * *

An adjacent room to the courtroom, past which Gammon saw the beginnings of a kitchen, had a staircase leading up to what he wondered was another tower.

He didn't know if he would be able to get up the stairs the way he was, but Waiter continued to drag him along. The more he hissed in pain, the more she would look at him in irritation, dropping hands with him so that he wobbled.

Gammon refused to go further and clung to the railing after one bad lean too many. "Please—please—can we go at my pace?"

The Waiter sneered at him. "It's not much further. And then there will be plenty of seats for you to rest in."

"What does that mean?"

She grabbed at his hand again, and only a little bit slower she continued to walk up the stairs, not giving him an answer. Gammon groaned, and he hissed in pain every time his foot struck a step. It was going to be very inconvenient for him to do chores like this as well, he decided._ I can't do chores in this place. If I can't do anything, does that mean I'm going to die?_ It was some kind of sick joke that he would get a reprieve and then death in Gallerian's theater.

The stairs ended. Gammon put his hand to the wall and again lifted his bad leg behind him, screwing his eyes shut.

"Hey, what are you doing? The Sorceress is this way."

Gammon opened his eyes again. In front of them, the first door on the second floor was a set of double doors with two oval windows set in them, though they were too dark to look inside.

Waiter stood by those doors, frowning impatiently. "Stop fooling around."

"Does it look like I'm fooling around to you?!"

She sneered at him.

Then, the sneer disappeared.

"Hey, new Gardener. When we get in there, the Sorceress is probably going to ask you a lot of questions. It's not necessary for you to answer all of them."

"...?"

"If you think there's something that she shouldn't know, you don't have to tell her. In fact, telling her everything might be a bad idea."

Gammon wondered what sort of lady this sorceress was; Waiter's expression had turned from an arrogant sneer to melancholy in that moment, almost sulking as she continued to look that way at him. Of course, Gammon had no intention to trust anyone is this place.

"...Okay then?" He just wanted to sit down somewhere.

Waiter reached out her hand with rolled eyes, and Gammon accepted it with another wobble from the wall, another yelp of pain when he stepped too hard on the bad foot. The spoiled girl before him started to snicker, and then she led him through the doors.

Past this door was another small hallway. What they stepped into, beyond that, was a big room with a slightly low ceiling, a spread of chairs and a screen in front of them that was almost curtained off by two silk red curtains. Looking across the back, there was a small projector in a tiny room behind this one, the rolls of film indistinguishable at this distance.

It was like a kind of room that Gammon saw in movie theaters when he was a little younger. Sitting by the screen and smoking her pipe was a figure he didn't quite recognize, a woman that might be this "Sorceress" that Waiter spoke of.

He wobbled down an aisle and then threw himself into the first seat available to him with a groan, not caring if the Waiter was expecting him to approach the Sorceress.

Waiter hissed and then stood awkwardly in the aisle. The figure noticed, and looked up.

Black hair, pipe, monocle, clothes like from the East.

Gammon recognized her more and more as the woman stood up and started to walk towards them both. Gradually, his eyes widened.

"...It's Ma."

Unconsciously, he said so. A woman that he had only seen on film or in photographs, a playwright of the world that he left behind. She stood before him like she belonged in this place of monsters posing as people.

It was appropriate, since it seemed that she had been friends with the one who created this theater. In fact, if he remembered correctly, she disappeared into it with the collectibles to begin with. But she survived that girl in the Courtroom on top of the woman in the Graveyard…Gammon didn't expect that.

On her face, looking at him the normal human—well, not a "normal" human—there was a bewildered smile. "It's President Gammon Octo."

"That's our new Gardener." Waiter piped up.

Those two ignored her for the moment. "...Calling me by that title is inadvisable."

"I wonder if 'Sergeant General' is more to your tastes again."

"Like 'Sorceress' is to yours...?"

She took a drag of her pipe and then her smile grew more comfortable as she said, "Well, I am a sorceress."

Now it was his turn to make a bewildered smile. "You're not that. You're just a writer. Is that just how you escaped the death penalty too?"

"Death penalty?"

Waiter stomped her foot. "ExcUSE me! I was the one giving out introductions! Ma, Sorceress of Time, this is our new Gardener, Gammon Octo! I had him pardoned for that sake!"

The smile on Ma's face grew ever slightly. "New Gardener? But an Octo sounds like he would be of use to me in particular."

Waiter scuffed her boot against the carpet on the aisle with a sullen expression, like what she wore before, "Huhhh, yeah. Sure. Why?"

"Oh _fufu_, that's for me and President Gammon to discuss alone."

"I can't do anything involving heavy-lifting. My ankle is sprained."

Ma gave a dismissive wave of her hand as she walked back up the aisle. "That's not a problem, I can fix that. Besides, it's not what's most important to me right now."

"Then what do you want of me?" Whether or not she could fix his sprain, Gammon had his doubts. Maybe she was skilled in medicine, but he hadn't heard anything like that in all the news about her.

She paused, taking a deep breath. "Well, for starters I'm wondering if you're good at singing."

Waiter rolled her eyes, and seeing this Gammon shifted. "Why is it important that I sing?" Was this some kind of singing troupe of actors?

Turning around, her violet eyes fixed on his and in a low voice the so-called sorceress uttered, "In this world, singing is the most important magical force."

Waiter was rolling her eyes again. Gammon stared. "...Is that your opinion?"

"It's a fact," perhaps she was choreographing her own movements, as while her voice became lower Ma was walking back towards him with that mysterious air she projected even into pictures. When she came to a stop before him, Gammon shifted uncomfortably and then he heard, "So can you sing, Mr. Octo?"

Gammon grimaced, "...Sure? It's not exactly something I do often."

"Sing something for me," she commanded with a wave of her pipe.

"Do I have to."

"Hey! Come on, I'm also interested in hearing your singing voice!" Waiter chirruped, elbowing him. "Since I already heard you screaming."

It would have at least been better if he didn't need to sing in front of the Waiter. Not that he didn't feel self-conscious in front of such a prestigious playwright, at the same time...Gammon looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh."

Ma took another drag from her pipe. "Go on. A grown man like you shouldn't be shy."

When it involved singing, Gammon couldn't help but bow his head. He cleared his throat, with those two women staring at him, "Fine, fine."

Raising upright, Gammon took an unsteady breath.

He couldn't think of any good song on the spot.

What he ended up singing was the song that got stuck in his head over a week ago before he made his excursion;

"_I wonder where is the place I see here?"_

"_And as well who was I, I also wonder?"_

"_The map I look upon has got no color, though"_

"_Southward I go, southward I go."_

Immediately, Gammon's mouth snapped shut. On Ma's face was a little smile and Waiter was grinning as though about to start laughing at any moment.

The sorceress clapped, "What a clear and beautiful singing voice, Mr. Octo~. I think I'll make good use of it."

Unconsciously, his face had started to get a little warmer. "Uh." Waiter's grin had split into giggles while she stood looking at them both; Gammon wished she was a little older so he'd feel justified slapping her smiling face.

"It seems like you might know a little bit about music, though. You made the song of the Tasan Party, didn't you?"

"...I don't want to talk about that."

"But the point is indeed your musical talent. I'm very interested in making use of it. If you're willing to collaborate, that is."

Gammon sighed, "...I thought I didn't have a choice in that?"

She nodded, "No, no you don't have a choice in being here and doing work for me, but helping me out in my scripts would be appreciated. That's all."

As though to calm down his blush Gammon rubbed his face with both hands, "Oh. Well. I'll…think about it, then."

"I'd be greatly obliged~." Ma said with a bright expression, and took another breath of her pipe. "But for now, I think, you will be getting settled in here. Wait, if you'll help him up to my room I can take a better look at that sprained ankle. Then we can find out a place for him to stay."

Like that, wobbling from the cinema, he became the Gardener.


	5. Garden

_"'Bloodstained scissors' 'Violet Katana'" _

_"The yet unawakened, we wait for them every day"_

* * *

How much time passed since then?

Gammon weeded the garden with ungloved hands and a small knife, cutting back the grasses that had started growing thickly again, threatening to choke out the flowers. It was a mindless work, but his mind was working while he did it, and it wasn't so terrible to have something to do with his hands. Since the time when his ankle healed completely, he became very busy. Almost too busy to think about the fact that he had been coerced into this service.

Still, he wasn't too busy to think about the reason why he came in the first place. In order to cleanse himself of his curse, he would one day find the sword nestled away in this theater. When he had free time, he would idly search for it.

But, in truth, there wasn't a sense of urgency anymore.

The wind was starting to blow harder and it was getting cold outside. Gammon wiped his brow and looked out over the yard in his crouch; there was still a lot of work to do cleaning the gravestones that had been recently caked in blood. But overhead, the sky was getting cloudy and it looked like it was going to rain.

Possibly, he'd let the rain wash the blood away and go back inside to meet with Ma. Gammon started to straighten up.

"Ah-!"

A sharp pain in his hand. Beside him, a rose bush with thorns had caught on his skin and gashed the side of his hand; dribbles of blood were spilling down from the wound.

"Tch," his long sleeve he used to dab at the blood. "Stupid of me."

"Hey!"

Gammon made an inward groan; he hadn't noticed that sneaking up from behind until her exclamation. If he had a more nervous disposition he might have jumped, but instead he only gave her a glare from behind. "What?"

"Your whole hand just got gashed, what's wrong with you? Didn't that even hurt?"

"I'm not a child who screams at every injury."

She huffed, "You screamed a lot when Graveyard ate your finger."

Gammon's right hand, which was missing a ring finger, twitched. "That's not even remotely comparable."

"Still." She walked up to be beside him and looked over the garden appraisingly. "You should be careful not to get blood everywhere, or these plants will grow even faster than we need. Plus we don't need to you getting sick again."

Gammon sighed as his sleeve slowly stained, wondering if he could simply run to the Theater and work with Ma for the rest of the day rather than listen to this girl prattling on. "Thank you for your concern."

"Ehahahaha! I'm not concerned, I'm just saying." She sniffed and tossed her bobbed hair back, then bent over to look at his bleeding hand. "As a replacement vessel of Lust, you sure seem empty of passion sometimes."

"Heh?" Hearing that phrase, he turned to face Waiter properly and she looked up, straightening to meet his gaze. Gammon's brows furrowed and he replied, "Where did you hear that phrase? 'Replacement vessel'?"

She shrugged and said dismissively, "I made it up. I heard Ma say you were kinda replacing Lust."

On his face, a small smile appeared, "...Well then. Anyway, I'm not empty of passion. You just don't know what to be passionate about. You wouldn't like me passionate."

Another huff, "I don't like you at all. You don't know anything, as I thought!"

After a silence, Gammon turned away and started to walk to the Theater, rolling his eyes. Waiter squawked and ran after him; clapping her hand on his shoulder tightly, she brought him to a complete stop with her strength.

_As always, she's stronger than she looks._

"I didn't just come out here to make conversation! I need you to help me in the cinema! The servants knocked the projector over and now all the rolls of film are everywhere. I'm pretty sure they're messing up the seats too, they were still at it when I left."

A fire burned on Gammon's face, emitting from the eyes, "And you didn't stop them!?"

"W-welllll no-"

"You idiot!"

"Hey, don't call _me_ an idiot, just fix it up as your superior tells you!"

If those two Servants and Waiter didn't exist maybe he'd have time to search as he pleased. On her face was a little smug grin; probably before he came along she really would have to fix everything herself. Gammon sighed heavily, and without speaking to her any further he ran towards the theater. If those two Servants and Waiter didn't exist maybe he'd have time to search as he pleased,

But since they did, and he was always busy, it would have to wait for now.

His past, his goals, were all unimportant in this place.

After all, of the people he encountered here—the monster in the Graveyard, the creature in the clocktower, the girl in the courtroom, the sorceress in the cinema...

The choreman in the garden didn't stand out quite so badly.


End file.
